Moriarty's Cure
by WatsWitDaMonkey
Summary: If you've been reading Puzzle Pieces From the Clay PLEASE PLEASE READ THIS! It's Moriarty's side of the story from when they were teenagers in school. Moriarty is a genius, true. But there's also something wrong with his head. Songs will be credited within the chapter. Sherlock isn't completely the best boyfriend in the world. Warnings: Abusive relationship.


Moriarty's Cure

A series of song-fics describing Moriarty's feelings towards Sherlock. Used as a tie-in for Puzzle Pieces from the Clay. (if you think I own anything you are severely mistaken)

By: WatsWitDaMonkey

ONE: WHY CAN'T I BE YOU? (by The Cure)

"Sherlock?" I ask aloud.

He doesn't look up from his book, "Yes, James?"

I stare at him quietly, "Love you."

He looks up at me, eyebrows furrowed, and is silent for a moment more before replying, "Love you too."

That's how he would always reply. Glance up, brows furrowed, pause. Respond. He never smiled and he always went directly back to whatever he'd been doing. But I knew he did actually love me. Sherlock Holmes was in love with me, he just wasn't good at saying or showing it.

I looked down at my notepad where I had been doodling. I was currently spread across my bed on my stomach in the room I stayed in for boarding school. Sherlock was sitting against my bed below me on the floor, reading. I smiled down at him, "Sherly?"

"Yes, James," she responded, voice always gentle.

I kicked my legs back and forth on the bed, "What are we going to do tonight? Do you want to go out maybe?"

He sighed, he always sighed. He closed the book and looked up at me, "Do you want to go out?"

I smiled happily; he rarely asked my opinion on matters, "Yea, kinda."

He stood, "Well, let's go out." He held out his hand to me and I took it excitedly. He helped me up off of the bed and asked, "Where do you want to go?"

"I, um," I mulled it over in my head, "Maybe, take a walk by the Thames and get a dinner nearby?"

He smiled sweetly at me, "That sounds lovely. And who will pay?"

I furrowed my brows, right. Neither of us had money. His mum was spending all she had to send him to the school we went to and didn't have any extra and my mum and dad both refused to give me any money. "Right. I forgot, sorry…"

"Exactly. Think next time, Jim," he let go of my hand.

I looked at him, "Maybe we could still go on a walk?"

"Sure," he smiled at me reassuringly. He wasn't mad. He didn't get mad at me unless he had a good reason. He held the door open for me; he was so polite. Just the most gentlemanly of gentlemen.

We walked off school grounds and down the streets of London holding hands. Sure, we got a few glares, but Sherlock loved me so much he reassured me that they were the real twats and he would glare back at them or even flip them off if they ever said anything. He promised to protect me from that kind of person. He was just so perfect and my heart beat faster every second I was with him, making contact with him, loving him. I looked over at him suddenly, smiling ever so wide.

He glanced down at me, love shimmering in his eyes. "It's a beautiful night, James. Nicely picked for a walk," he said.

I beamed at him, "Every night is lovely with you, Sherlock."

"As it is with you," he looked back in front of him at where he was walking, but gripped my hand a little tighter. Yes, Sherlock Holmes loved me.

I screamed that night. In my sleep. I don't even know why! It just happens sometimes. My head just gets so weird and I just can't hold in anything and I just scream.

I know my roommate is mad at me, I know he hates me and that he thinks I'm crazy. I'm not. Not crazy anyway, just odd. My mum, and I smiled fondly at the thought of her, she would look at me with wide eyes when I was a little kid and she would look at me and say, "My god!" And she would hug me and cradle me and rock me back and forth because she knew I was so special.

I wasn't crazy. Just really intelligent. Only Sherlock understood. He and I were both the smartest people at school and he and I both faced ridicule daily. Well, I mean, Sherlock was much smarter than I, of course. We were almost equal, with me only dreaming of being better than he one day. He had an IQ of 220 and well I only had 219.

Anyway, I think it was a nightmare that woke me screaming. The nurse came to my room because my roommate called her. She gave me some type of medication and told me to go back to sleep. It was the fourth time that month that I'd woken screaming and apparently if I did again then I'd have to go away and see some sort of doctor. I didn't want to go because I knew I wouldn't have Sherlock there to protect me from those people that would glare at me. I wouldn't have Sherlock there to love me at all. So I looked at the nurse and I told her that I would try my best to not get all worked up. I went back to sleep and stayed asleep.

Sherlock came to my room early that morning. He knocked on the door at around 7AM; I had been awake for thirty minutes and just stepped out of the shower. I threw on my pants and trousers and a jumper before I went to the door and opened it to see my love standing there. I smiled widely and said, "Good morning."

He leaned down a little and kissed me on the cheek, saying, "Good morning," with a smile. He put his hand on my waist and I closed the door behind him. He sat on the chair by my desk and patiently waited for me to get into uniform for the day. When I had finished adjusting my tie, Sherlock and I matched and he stood, holding out his hand. I took it and we walked to breakfast together. We rarely actually ate but we had to attend because the headmaster might announce something important for the day. So what we did do during that time was we both watched other people eat or we would work on some hypothesis. Sherlock often would write songs in this little notebook and I would watch him, wondering what went through his head.

I thought back to when I first heard him play violin. We weren't dating at the time, but we had taken notice of each other and it wasn't long before we actually did start. Anyway I had been walking to my room for the night. There was a hall block, though, and I had to walk a different way. I went down another passage and found myself in the middle of some sort of symphony. I heard music being played from one of the rooms but I could tell it was not from a stereo. I was amazed because so few people at the school I went to had talent. I wrote some poems sometimes and I excelled in math and science but I didn't have any artistic ability. So to hear this music coming from one of the rooms I simply had to figure out who it was. It didn't take long, as soon I saw a Greg Lestrade come out from a room and go to knock angrily on a door.

"Sherlock!" he yelled angrily. The violin played on, a slight bit faster. Lestrade knocked again and said, "Sherlock if you don't knock that off I will disrupt your lab."

The music stopped and out came Sherlock's curly mess of black hair, "You wouldn't, Lestrade."

"I would, Sherlock," he threatened.

I heard all this from behind the corner as Sherlock then announced, "Fine! I'll stop." There was cheering from many rooms in the hall and I thought it absurd that so many would hate an artist like that.

I waited a moment before I approached the door and knocked quietly. Sherlock called from inside, "Lestrade! I've stop-" and he opened the door, seeing it wasn't his friend. "Oh. Hello, James," he seemed struck.

"I heard you playing," I said nervously.

"Oh," he simply said and stared at me with wide eyes.

"I really liked it," I told him.

He waited a moment before saying again, "Oh." I smiled up at him. He was rather tall up close. We were both quiet for a moment before he asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I think that would be lovely," I replied quickly. He smiled at me and widened his door so I could step in.

The second time I heard him play violin was when he was playing a concert just for me in the park at dusk. It was quite romantic. That, coincidently, had also been the first time we kissed.

Tonight, Sherlock called upon my room. He looked dashing even dressed as simply as he was. He always looked handsome, though. I looked at him and said, "Good evening, darling."

He smiled back at me and replied, "Good evening to you too." I opened a door wider so he could come into the room. He shook his head, though, and said, "I was actually hoping that we could go to the lab."

I smiled at him and nodded, "That sounds fun. I take it you have experiments that need doing?"

He nodded, "Yes, I have and tonight I will need an assistant. Therefore you're coming to." My mind raced with the possibilities what he'd be talking about. I followed him out into the hall and closed the door behind me. He led off in the direction that I knew be the one that went to the lab. I watched him walk ahead of me, the way he swayed his hips was simply delectable. I could barely contain myself so I skipped ahead little bit and wound my arm around his waist. He looked down to me and smiled slightly. Sometimes I swear he was an angel or some kind of god that I could worship from his feet to his head. His smile lingered on his face towards me. The slight turn of his lips was just so irresistible I stopped there in the hall and reached up to grasp his face and kiss him. He kissed me back feverently for a moment before he pulled back. He looked at me with heat in his eyes.

"The, um. I think the experiments can wait until tomorrow," he coughed a little into his hand.

I smirked at him in a way I hoped was sexy, (god, this stuff wasn't as easy as he made it seem), "Are you insinuating something?"

He gulped, "It depends."

I took his hand and we ran back to his room. He couldn't keep a steady roommate, and really, I couldn't keep one either. But because his elder brother went here years ago, Sherlock got some say in the matter and ended up having a room to himself. I was excited now, though. We had done this once before and _wow_. Sherlock's body, in the darkness or light, clothed or naked, was beautiful. But somehow, in this vulnerable state, he was purely god like.

Once in his room I giggled, "I could eat you, Sherlock!" I waltzed slowly across the room to him, "You're just so fucking perfect." My eyes trailed down his body and he backed up against his bed. I pushed him down, saying huskily, "I'm hungry for this. I'm hungry for you."

When we woke up I was hugging onto him tightly. I looked up at him through doughy eyes. I smiled lazily, "Hello, Sherlock."

"Finally, you're awake. Get off me, you're squeezing me to death," he squirmed under my grasp.

I thought briefly, _I _could_ not let go. I could hold onto him forever and not leave this spot. I could keep him here so that no one else ever had him. I didn't want to share him, so why should I let him go?_ I squeezed tighter for a moment before letting go, _because he asked_.

He quickly stood up out of bed. _Just what you were afraid of, Moriarty. He's no good for you! He treats you horribly then he-_

"SHUT UP!" I screamed, holding my head. I rocked myself back and forth for a while before I could take my head out of my hands and look up at Sherlock. He was staring at me, a hard look in his eyes.

He smiled, "Freak," he muttered and pulled on a school blazer.

I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. I stopped laughing and watched him as he dressed and brushed his hair and teeth and did his morning thing. He glanced at me once and I smiled at him, "I love you," I told him. He turned back into the mirror to floss, expression unchanged. I smiled and thought about him, he was just so perfect in every single way. He just was so good and nice to me and he loved me too. He was so smart and sexy and just-

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit_.

I furiously searched around his desk, looking, looking, looking for a pencil, no pencil, no pencil, pen! Pen! There's a pen! Paper, paper, paper, paper, where – notebook! Fantastic!

I opened it quickly to a random page and the words flowed from the ink to the page. I rocked a little as I wrote, not even knowing what came from my head as I did it.

When I was done, I stopped, pulled out of myself and I looked down at the words I'd scribbled on the page. I smiled widely at them. Sherlock would love this one. He absolutely would. I'd leave it in his notebook and he'd find it and he'd see it was about him and he'd love it and he'd love me and he'd take me in his arms and kiss me and tell me he loved me and he loved it and oh, shh. He came out of the bathroom. I quickly put his notepad and pen down. I smiled at him.

"Those experiments still need doing and I still need you as an assistant if you feel mentally stable enough to help me," he deadpanned.

I jumped up from his bed, "Okay!"

He looked away from me, "Find your clothes." I smiled to myself. I knew he didn't want anyone else to see me like this. Like this was, 'only for,' him; that was the way both of us liked it.

I got my clothes on and noticed he grabbed his notebook that had the little surprise in it. I smiled at him and laced arms with him and went with him down to the labs.

One look from Sherlock and the other kids that were using the labs all ran off to do something else. He could just do amazing things like that.

He opened his notebook – I held my breath.

He flipped to _the_ page – I watched him carefully.

He looked up at me, fire in his eyes – I smiled widely at him.

"Do you like it?" I asked?

He furrowed his eyebrows and rounded on me, "'like it'? It's shit! And you used _my _journal for it! I've told you not to go through my journal!"

I was backed against a wall and I looked at him. My face had fallen. He didn't like it and he was mad at me because of it, "I – I didn't look through your-"

"It doesn't matter! I've told you not to touch this!" He was standing over me, pointing at the notepad wildly.

I was on the verge of tears, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't stop!" I could hear how pitiful I sounded.

"You bloody well should be! What possessed you to go and write in pen a shitty song in _my _book?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I was really crying now, "can't you just," I reached for the notebook, "tear the page out?"

"Of course not! You have an IQ of 119, you know how books are made! The pages are all one page, shown clearly in the very center of the book! I've got important notes on its sister page! You couldn't even think enough to write a shitty song on a worthless page! I need all 100 pages of this-"

The door of the laboratory opened and someone stomped in, pulling Sherlock away from me, "Hey, buddy!"

Sherlock looked him up and down, I was barely watching the proceedings. My head was in my hands and I'd slid down the wall to curl into myself, sobbing. I heard Sherlock say, "Hey, yourself. Get out of here!"

"Excuse me, but I think you're being a rather terrible boyfriend! James is crazy! He doesn't need your pushing him around!" the voice said. I knew that voice. It was my roommate, Sebastian. I looked up at him.

"Sebastian?" I asked quietly.

Neither heard me. Sherlock pushed my roommate, "I don't need you telling me what to do!" He spat.

"I'm not crazy," I muttered.

"He doesn't need you telling him what to do!" Sebastian yelled and pushed Sherlock back.

I slowly stood up, "I'm not crazy."

"Like you know! You don't know anything about him! He needs me!" Sherlock roared at the athlete.

"I'M NOT CRAZY!" I screamed at them both and they heard me this time.

Sherlock put his hand on my shoulder lovingly, "Of course you're not crazy sweetheart." I leaned into his touch.

Sebastian tried to pull Sherlock away from me but I held firm to my boyfriend, "I'm not crazy," I told my roommate. "And don't touch my boyfriend. No one touches my Sherlock."

Sebastian's jaw dropped and he stared at me in horror, "But, James-"

"Moriarty," I interrupted, "you will call me Moriarty."

He ignored me, "He pushes you around. He calls you names and he treats you like you don't have a mind of your own. Like you're some kind of dog he can just kick around. Please, please. You deserve better than this. You're a smart person with thoughts and feelings!"

"But you said I was crazy. I'm not crazy. But what I am is feeling like you should leave the lab," I didn't feel like it. I just didn't feel like it.

He shook his head, "Whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you."

When he left I pushed myself away from Sherlock. He looked at me with smug pride in his eyes. "That was bri-"

"Save it," I told him. "Save it for when you feel like hitting me. Save it for when you want to make me cry, and sob, and fall on the floor in my pitifulness. Save it, Sherlock Holmes." And I walked out of the lab.

I went back to my room. I was tired. I was emotionally and physically drained.

Sebastian was in there; I didn't care. I went to my bed and lie down.

After a good long while of silence he asked me a question, "Was it a song?"

I don't care how he knew or why he knew I wrote songs, "Yes," it was the truth.

"It's just that you've done that to pages of mine before. Sometimes school pages. Sometimes I'll find song lyrics in books or in a margin of a page." I could hear the smile in his voice but our backs were to one another on separate beds. "I don't mind," he said. "I like them, you're a brilliant songwriter. I've seen you in one of those trances where you can't stop. You're a genius."

"I'm not," I deadpanned.

He huffed, "is that what _he_ says?"

"_He_ is my boyfriend," I replied testily.

"Not what I asked."

"Then yes."

"Yes what?"

"Your question. Yes, Sherlock says that I should leave the songwriting to him. I should. I know I should. I'm a terrible poet."

I could hear him move on his bed, "But you're not! He fills your head with all these false-isms about _yourself, _James!"

"Moriarty."

"Moriarty, please. Are you going to see him again."

"I love him."

There was a silence in the room then that lasted for the better part of ten minutes. I was almost asleep when Sebastian asked his final question of the night, "Will you sing it for me?"

I didn't care at that point that the song was for Sherlock. I was mad at Sherlock and he didn't like the song. I liked the song. I opened my mouth and sang quietly.

"You're so gorgeous I'll do anything

I'll kiss you from your feet

To where your head begins

You're so perfect you're so right as rain

You make me

Make me hungry again

Everything you do is irresistible

Everything you do is simply kissable

Why can't I be you?

I'll run around in circles

Till I run out of breath

I'll eat you up

Or I'll just hug you to death

You're so wonderful

Too good to be true

You make me

Make me hungry for you

Everything you do is simply delicate

Everything you do is quite angelicate

Why can't I be you?

You turn my head when you turn around

You turn the whole world upside down

I'm smitten I'm bitten I'm hooked I'm cooked

I'm stuck like glue

You make me

Make me hungry for you

Everything you do is simply dreamy

Everything you do is quite delicious

Why can't I be you?

Why can't I be you?

Why can't I be you?

You're simply elegant."

"Thank you," I heard him mutter before I drifted off to sleep.


End file.
